Hallucinations
by piratesmiley
Summary: Olivia goes to the Bishops for help with her hallucinations. Season one filler. P/O.


I'm trying to clear out all my old fics, and this one just happened to be finished. It's season one, Polivia UST, with some thinly-veiled John Scott references. So...there you go.

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After the third time, after he had came and left while no one was around, she went for help. Every shadow, every corner looked suspiciously like him. She was jumpy and on edge and now she was desperate. Something had changed in her, and now she was crazy.

It was late, but she knocked anyway, insistently. Her eyes stung and she couldn't stop fidgeting. It was hard to wait, but it wasn't that long before Peter opened the door.

He was shirtless, of course, but today it didn't distract her like it usually did.

He noticed the frenzy that was Olivia Dunham and stepped aside. Her hair was loose and wild, she wasn't dressed to her typical standard, and the look on her face was one of pure anguish. He was frightened at whatever was making her this way already. It was automatic now.

Walter was awake, of course. They had just previously been discussing their cow, Gene, and how badly she needed a friend. Or rather, Walter was discussing it, and Peter was banging his head against the wall.

The old man sat up at the sight of her. Even the insane could tell that something was wrong with her.

Olivia made straight for Walter, kneeling down next to his bed.

"What do you know about hallucinations?"

Peter bit back a scathing retort.

"You're having hallucinations?" Walter asked.

Peter pulled on a shirt from the floor. He could tell she was reluctant to answer, but even more reluctant to not get help. "I think so," she whispered, and Peter watched her shudder.

"Have you taken any drugs?"

"No, Walter. I haven't." Olivia felt dejected. This was ridiculous. If she was crazy, she could share a cell with him, because he wasn't getting her anywhere.

She seemed to become aware of herself and realize that she shouldn't be here. She backtracked, apologizing, and Peter noticed that the look on her face was reminiscent of the day that she told him he had to stay. The day that _he _died.

_Oh._

She left the room once he realized what was going on and caught up with her in the hallway.

"Olivia, wait," he called but she shook her head and kept walking. He sped up and grabbed her by the shoulders. She tried to pull loose but he refused to let her go. He ended up pressing her against the wall, trapping her between his arms. Once she realized that she wasn't going anywhere her head fell back and she started to cry. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on the ground.

"Tell me," he said, half asking and half commanding.

She talked, she wept, she calmed, all quietly as they sat cross-legged against the dingy hotel wall. One of the intensely garish sconce lighting fixtures flickered every 14 seconds. The carpet pattern was so dull she couldn't pretend it held her attention.

She looked at him.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"

It didn't. It really didn't. Not if he didn't think so.

He was being very nice.

That seemed to be new for him.

He seemed to be very good at it. Her only real indication was that she had moved pretty close to him during her outpouring of incomprehensible blubbering, close enough that she was growing comfortable in the proximity. Which was making her uncomfortable.

Which meant something. Something possibly deep and complicated that she didn't really want to contemplate or even acknowledge at present.

His eyes flickered down from her eyes and back up. She wanted desperately to get rid of that smirk.

She knew how. She could just do it. It didn't have to be something; it didn't have to be anything.

She knew how. But she would not.

She smiled, just a little.

"You should go inside now."

He smirked a little more.

"_Oh_-kay," he enunciated, teasing her.

He sprung up, then offered his hand. With a notable amount of hesitation, she took it, and ended up just as close to him as the moment before.

"I'm going home now."

"Okay," He lilted again.

He was waiting for her to move.

But she couldn't, for some reason unbeknownst to her.

Somehow, she snapped out of it, on the next flicker of yellow light.

"Thank you," she said slowly, quietly.

He knew for what.

"Anytime, Dunham."

She smiled, backed away, and disappeared.

He smiled, backed away, and whispered to himself.

"Anytime."


End file.
